The coffee shop on 54th was quieter on Thursday than it had been on Tuesday.
Fewer people. A different energy, less transactional, more settled. The woman who had been typing at the window table was gone. The counter staff moved at the same unhurried pace but the room felt looser, like a held breath slightly released. I arrived eight minutes early this time instead of seven, took the same corner table, ordered the same black coffee, and sat with my hands flat on the table and waited.
Lillian arrived three minutes later.
She sat down, ordered nothing, and looked at me with the direct gaze.
“You slept,” she said.
“A little.”
“I didn’t,” she said. Not complaining. Just reporting.
Lucas came through the door at one o’clock exactly, same jacket as Tuesday, and I knew within the first two
